Tony (Isn't) An Annoying, Scrawny Brat
by Shadowing
Summary: Tony is a 15 year old, annoying, scrawny brat who grew up in the system and is living off scraps he makes on the internet. When uncovering a job offer for a tech helper with the Avengers in the SHIELD network he eagerly applies for it- accidentally also shutting down the entire system. Oops. He's arrested, shot, but finally gets the job and meets the team... leading to disaster.
1. The Beginning

**This is an AU story of teenage!Tony. He's not rich. He's not Iron Man. Or an adult. But he's still the crazy ass, smart, hurt person who all of SHIELD hates. This is a story of how he grew up in the system, unwanted, and hardened to life- how he learnt to fight, survive no matter what, and it picks up where the now awesome hacker Tony sees an invitation from SHIELD for a job. And he thinks, why not?**

**It all goes down from there.**

**Yes, I am a sucker for angsty teen boys with lots of bad things happening to them, and responsible adults who try and care and fix it but sometimes it's just one of those screwy things Fate throws our way. The rest of the Avengers are normal aged, this takes place after the Avengers movie, canon compliant minus Tony Stark in all ways; oh, and Coulson lives. Yup. Again, FTHU readers, I'm working on the next chapter. I swear.**

**I'm sorry. Façades That Hide Us fans, I am so, so sorry.**

**I couldn't resist.**

**Warnings for foul language, vivid descriptions of violence, maybe some rape/non-con/dub-con further down the line, and also maybe some torture. All the things that come with this proud rating of M. Please don't read if uncomfortable with any of this stuff.**

**Enjoy!**

**CHAPTER ONE**

Fifteen year old Tony bit his lip uncertainly as he stared at the bold SHIELD statement in the midst of their networks; _Dear any hacker who's made it this far,_

_we'd like you to work for us. Specifically the Avengers. As a tech helper, since all of them are hopeless. Please submit your entries to __ShieldWorkHacker hotmail . com. __  
_

_Thank you._

Well. That was... interesting.

He tugged on the string of his large, stained dark blue hoodie and stared at the words harder, forcing them to imprint into his mind. His hand twitched towards the cup of coffee (a rare treat he was only able to afford once a week) and he frowned in disappointment at the last bitter dregs, which offered no solution to his predicament.

Ok. Cons. He was a kid. Was that even legal? And he'd be working for them in person- he'd have to interact with people. Oh, the horror. Not that he wasn't perfectly capable of interacting, it was just a bit hard to get through a conversation without insulting people- which again wasn't a problem except he'd have to see them again and again. And seeing them in person would also bring feelings for him out, and those were bad, bad things, be they hate or pity or even like because that would leave to betrayal when they got bored, which hurt.

But just a bit, because he was used to it now.

And again, the fact he was a kid; they'd want to put him back in the system the second they found out. He'd have to lie about having a family or something- he'd work on that later.

Pros. He'd hacked into the SHIELD database, of course, and knew they were sheltering some of the greatest minds in science under their roof. Dr Banner, Dr Foster, and occasionally Reed Richards when the great man deigned to grace his presence on those mortals... just the thought of meeting such scientists made Tony drool. Another pro; the pay. Something he desperately, desperately needed. Since his last laptop had crashed he'd had to work of public computers which while preferable because they screened his location it also meant he had to save everything on the internet- an unreliable method at the best. His shitty apartment was almost at the end of the lease and he was barely keeping up on payment. Not to mention that his usual jobs on the internet- improving online security, designing bugs, etc.- were fast running out, for some reason he couldn't fathom.

But Tony was an impulsive kinda guy. He discarded all the thoughts and set about making designs for ideas for the Avenger's tech, for his 'entry'.

Ok. As coincidences went, he'd thought about this quite a bit. He crafted a blueprint- just a sketch- for improving Hawkeye's arrows- explosives? Net which erupted when hitting warm flesh? Trackers mixed with sedatives?- he put the formula in for that. And an earpiece that would stay in the Hulk's ear when he transformed- though Tony first needed to know how coherent Hulk was when in that form, since it would be no use if all he had was grunts and HULK SMASH! And maybe for Captain America some unrestricting armour. Like, the guy might've been superpowered but he went around in _spandex _for god's sake.

Less than an hour later he was done. Tony saved the blueprints to the file and set about hacking into the SHIELD database (again) He needed to put this somewhere they couldn't miss, yet that would demonstrate his skill. Hopefully that would make up for his age. Tony put a code in that let him bypass the firewalls, navigating through the walls of code and into the central 'brain'. He put a loop in there which quickly opened up a hole in the defences, sending another long string of code in that would allow him administrator's access.

Well. That was easy.

Tony saved the file, marking it in big letter's; MY ENTRY FOR THE JOB, and put his contact details underneath the blueprints. He backed out of the system, cautiously and systematically erasing any trace he had been there but the file.

Then he noticed the trackers onto him.

They were small lines of code intruding where he was, disturbing the process and working to pinpoint the location. Tony panicked and sent ten lines of pure destructive code into the system, pressing enter with frantic fingers; then gasped as the entire system went off line.

Oops.

Ah well. Those highly paid techies would sort it out quickly enough. He'd keep his (modified) phone on him at all times in preparation for when they would contact him. Which they would. To offer him a job. (Hopefully.)

Tony stood up in the library chair- he was in a public library, which was just about to close- and crumpled up his coffee cup, swinging a backpack over his shoulder and chucking it (the coffee cup, not the backpack) in the bin when he passed. Navigating his way through the maze of bookshelves Tony exited into the New York drizzle, pulling up his hood as he started walking through the slowly darkening streets to his apartment, key cold in his hand, phone clenched in the others, face down against the cold. If he got this job, first thing he was spending the money on was clothes. A thin shirt, ragged jeans and a ripped hoodie weren't gonna last him the winter. The lanky teen climbed wearily up the stairs to his apartment, unlocking it with frozen fingers and going in, keeping the light off- electricity bills, these days, _god- _and stumbling over empty pizza boxes.

Empty. _Sigh. _

The walls were lined with mould, filth and large sheets of paper pinned up, covered in scrawled code and blueprints and ideas. A saggy mattress sat in the corner, covered forlornly with a blanket. A grimy window let in little light from outside- he should really clean that sometime, but never got round to it- and a door led into the kitchen.

He didn't go in there, because it would be full of depressingly clanging cupboards lined with dust, and a fridge he didn't even know why he kept since all it had harboured (for three months, two days and five hours- what? He was a genius!) was a can of beer he was saving for desperate times.

Home sweet home.

)()()()()()()()()(

Tony had a history of being abandoned.

First, his father, Howard Stark. Yeah. The former brilliant owner of the most successful weapons company in America. That guy who was found ten years back as a child abuser. He'd killed himself when his reputation went down in shatters, and left everything in his will to Obadiah Stane. Tony Stark, the victim of four years of child abuse, had been put into the system with no living family left. His inheritance all turned over to Obadiah, he turned into one of the nameless orphans who struggled through the system with the help of drugs and alcohol and most of the time ended up doing the same thing as Howard Stark.

Before that was Maria Stark, who had cut all ties to her husband and child and flew off to Spain to make a new family.

Though, Obadiah wasn't that bad. He'd watched over Tony and came to visit him occasionally. He was Tony's best and only friend, come to think of it. Though he'd made it clear Tony wasn't receiving any help from him- even though the company Obie had used to be his father's- Tony was used to that. He appreciated the fact Obie didn't disappear. There was a text every few weeks, a call every few months, a precious visit once or twice a year.

Enough for Tony to latch onto him and see him as the only one who would ever care for him. Even if Obie refused to help.

After Howard, the abandonments came thick and fast, in the form of foster families who pushed Tony away after deciding his brilliant mind and sharp comments and cutting wit and often insulting sarcasm were sweet and all, but not really a child's best qualities, and sorry but could they have a girl or something instead? Like he was just a fucking dog- no, not even that, just a pile of clothes they could try on and decide they didn't like, return without a blink of an eye.

Friends at school had, funnily enough, also come thick and fast. Then he'd skipped one year, and another, then another, until he was a child in a midst of youths, and cleverer than them all, and all his old friends abandoned him, and everyone in his new classes didn't want to be with him. They hadn't turned on him, exactly- just excluded him. He was worth only fucks and so threw himself into becoming the school's lone wolf and slut.

Funny combination. But it suited him.

All the while he developed his computer skills and engineering abilities, as well as expanding in the world of science- submitting a few works under a pseudonym, even getting a glowing review once from Dr Banner himself. (He'd done a little happy dance in the middle of history at that and gained a new position as school weirdo. Which helped with school's lone wolf but wasn't really an improvement.)

Then he'd got a scholarship into a posh, rich-kids-only high school. Younger than them all. A poor system kid in a world of snobs.

And the torture had started. He'd lost his natural charm and fallen into insulting everything and everyone. Experience taught him it helped him keep his pride, and it got the beatings over quicker. He was still the school slut, of course; some things never changed, and no one could resist that kid with a dirty mouth and wicked good in bed, and they didn't have to worry about things like expectation with him because he was the outsider, the kid; he didn't have feelings. Of course.

He graduated high school at fourteen. Three months later- he had no money to go to college, was not old enough to be let out of the system, had nothing to do but sit around all day and get fucked by social workers who'd heard his slut status by then and wanted a go. Oddly enough, it was his fellow orphans who held some measure of respect for him, maybe because they had been through such things themselves, and so they limited themselves to beating and bullying which was actually a good thing since it taught Tony how to fight street-dirty.

Tired of life, Tony disappeared. Lived on the streets a good half a year, enough to gain street smarts, and lose half his body weight. Then he decided to something about it and got a load of fake ID's, set up a hacker alias, rented an apartment. Started a new life. A shitty life, but a new one. His own. In his spare time Tony hacked into ultra secret government networks and found out dirty national secrets of utmost importance. And when hacking SHIELD- a shortened version of a long name Tony could never remember, led by one Director Fury, deputy Coulson, top spies also members of the Avengers- Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton- he'd found an invitation for any hacker who got right into the heart of the network to work for them.

He was pretty sure it was a trap. So he hacked into the orders bit and made sure it was an actual, real offer. Then waited around.

And waited some more.

And finally, that day, he'd accepted.

It would be a huge turn point in his life. And so many others. A life changing decision.

Or maybe just another opportunity to get hurt.

)()()()()()()()()()()(

The next day he got a job, was arrested and met the usual prejudice about being a kid. Not in that order.

They contacted him, with a long text; _Thank you for replying to our offer, Mr Jarrod McJones. Also for crashing our systems. We will be with you shortly. _This held many significant messages. The first; they knew who he was, they knew everything about them. Or at least, that was the message they were trying to convey, but unfortunately for them they happened on Tony's _fake_ twenty year old identity so they didn't score intimidation points. The second; a sense of humour. He could work with that. But also a subtle threat. And the last sentence- we will be with you shortly.

They were going to get a pinpoint on his location, through his phone or something, and as expected here was a black car pulling up outside the building. The tinted windows and polished sheen with no keyed marks in the side gave it away as a car not from the neighbourhood and there was a guy with shades inside of it- typical agent profile.

As expected. Not welcome, but expected.

Tony brushed his arms down and straightened his hoodie. He thought for a moment before sliding up his hood, putting his face in shadow, and touched the knife strapped onto his leg with tentative fingers- in case things got nasty. Which they almost always did. Then he opened the door, locked it and double locked it behind him, made sure all the safety procedures were there- an electric shock on the door knob if a hand with fingerprints not matching his was there for more than five seconds, a shrill alarm that went off if you didn't first put a pin through the hinge to stop it, a flood of water that came down if someone stepped outside his door for more than ten minutes. Which got him in a lot of trouble with some guys who had stopped there to smoke, but what could you do?

No, it was not paranoia. It was... caution. Or something. _Just because you're not paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you, _after all.

He gulped, fingered the knife again. Touched the cool screen of the phone in his pocket. Then took the stairs, two at a time, to meet the SHIELD agent. And hopefully get a job. And hopefully not be killed for crashing their system. And hopefully not be discarded because he was kid. And hopefully not found with a knife- which, in hindsight, was not one of his better ideas, because he could be arrested if found with it. And hopefully-

It was a shame Tony had never put much stock in hope.

Yeah, he was in shit.

)()()()()()()()()()(

Coulson exited the car with a hand clenched around a pistol as he scanned his surroundings.

A crappy area to live in, to be sure. The gaunt faces of beggars peered out, white and hopeless, from the dirty shadows. The streets were covered in litter, and a smell hung almost tangibly- of cat piss and bird shit and human sweat and blood and puke. The buildings rose desolately out of the gloom, hard concrete walls smeared with grime. And yet, here he was, looking for someone to work for him. And also to arrest.

The hacker was cocky. But brilliant. His blueprints looked hurried but some raw manifestation of talent; his codes that had bought the system down for a few hours were beautiful long pieces of destruction, or so the techies claimed; he was bold, perfect. And also the only guy ever to answer the SHIELD's offer of a job, buried in the system, from so long ago most people had forgotten it (or been killed). They definitely wanted him on SHIELD's side- look at the damage he could do!

They were aware, of course, that Jarrod McJones was an alias. But it was better to let the man, whoever he was, underestimate them, and that was the identity that owned the phone. And all they had. They didn't have a face, or even a description; just a name and date of birth, which if it was right meant the guy was twenty, but was probably wrong. It was likely he'd be much older judging by his level of experience and skill.

A lead had told them he lived somewhere in this building. Coulson sighed at the prospect of having to open every single door, asking for Jarrod, in a building where everyone was probably a druggie or alcoholic or slut or thug or any other of the lowlifes who inhabited dirt-cheap dirt-dirty (okay, crap joke) places like this. Unfortunately, that was his job; luckily there was a cold, loaded pistol deep in his suit pocket, in case things got nasty. Coulson took a deep breath and stepped into the building complex, nose wrinkling at the new waves of human stink that hit him. He was too old for this. Why hadn't he sent Clint or Natasha or someone just as capable? Oh right, because no one knew but him and Director Fury, and no one would know until they either killed the hacker or enlisted him.

Thinking of the rage in the techies faces when the system failed and they spent every second frantically trying to get it back up, Coulson wasn't sure which option would be best.

He walked along the filthy, beer stained corridor to number 1, and knocked politely on the door. It opened not a moment later, and a naked man, dick in hand, grinned in the dazed way of one intoxicated and sex crazed. "Hey, Jemeniah darling, you're here just in- hey, who the fuck are you?"

"I'm looking for Jarrod McJones." he said wearily, pointedly not looking at the man's body. "Do you know which number he lives in?"

"Of course I fucking don't." the man sneered. "Now fuck off." And he slammed the door in Coulson's face.

Well, he hadn't expected the residents of such a building to be friendly but that was slightly more than disturbing. Coulson moved on to number 2, hoping for the best, the cold pistol preparing him for the worst. He knocked sharply.

Five minutes passed. He knocked again.

The door swung inwards, and a tired face of a woman with a smoke hanging out of the corner of her lipsticked mouth appeared in the crack. "Hello?" she questioned with a quiet voice, slightly slurred and blue eyes glazed with addiction. "Who are you?"

"I was just wondering if you knew what number Jarrod McJones lives at?"

"Jarrod McJones?" she said thoughtfully, tangling the name with a heavy tongue, taking another long drag of the smoke. "Can't say I do, handsome. But you certainly look tired. Like to come in and have the night of your life? For free?"

He didn't even bother to respond and turned away, heading for the next door. She threw a quiet swear at him then closed the door.

Number three got him a black eye.

Number four offered him a threesome.

Number five hugged him tight and sobbed into his shoulder that "Oh, my poor, sweet Barny! You're back!"

Number six intruded on a shouting match between a strong man and a slight woman with a black eye and a tremulous voice. Never one for abusers, Coulson knocked the man out and told the woman to get a life in the nicest way possible.

Just before number seven he noticed a youth in a large, ripped blue hoodie, face shadowed, leaning on the wall and almost pissing himself laughing. "What're you looking at?" he scowled at the boy, taking in his scrawny figure and dirty clothes and deeming him a street rat, or resident of this building.

"Nothing." the boy snorted then composed himself. "You're hilarious, mate. Shoulda taken number two. I've done her, a real fire in bed."

"Fuck off." Coulson growled and started towards number seven.

"Ah, wait. I'm sorry, man. I shouldn't have made you go through that. S'just been a while since I laughed." the boy looked wistful, and Coulson felt a moment of pity- and confusion. The fuck? "Jarrod McJones." he said, holding out a hand. "Or Tony, if you prefer my real name."

"_You're _the hacker?" Coulson said with incredulity, refraining from taking the hand and looking the kid over again, coming to the same conclusion; street rat, or resident of this building, neither of which was capable of being the fantastic hacker or brilliant designer. He scanned him again, because the kid looked pretty insistent; large, baggy hoodie, far too big, with stains and rips and hanging off the kid's skinny frame. Worn jeans much the same. Trainers made for a man with abnormally big feet and tattered to the point of falling off, bits of rolled up newspaper peeking out the hole at the top; a scrawny body with not much muscle, the beginnings of a nasty scar on his wrist, going up under the hoodie. And the hood was pulled up, casting a shadow on the kid's face, his wary brown eyes staring at Coulson with an almost haunted look hidden behind a smile.

No kid should have a look in their eyes like that. Which was why Coulson didn't go to number seven and ignore the kid just then.

But he still didn't think this was the hacker.

The kid- Tony- seemed to realise that and pulled a phone out of his pocket, screen cracked but looking much sleeker than the ones on market- as if it had been modified, or something, but that was ridiculous. He turned it on and tapped on something, then handed it to Coulson.

It was a text message. From a contact simply labelled SHIELD. _Thank you for replying to our offer, Mr Jarrod McJones. Also for crashing our systems. We will be with you shortly. _Precisely the message Coulson had sent.

Coulson narrowed his eyes at Tony, who threw his hands up in disgust. "You still don't believe me?"

"You could've stole it."

Tony stared at him a long moment, then said, "H30R3S900."

"Say that again?"

The kid repeated. Coulson raised an eyebrow. "That meant to mean something, kid?"

Tony gave him that long, _are-you-fucking_-_stupid?_ stare. Coulson tried not to flinch. "That, you retarded, idiotic man, is the code to shut down your entire system. Which my bots discovered last night. I guess you're not a techie."

Coulson ignored the insult and picked up his phone and dialled Jameson, a techie he knew. "Hey, Coulson, I'm actually really busy right now-"

"H30R3S900."

"...How the _fuck _did you know that?!"

"Thanks. Bye."

Coulson put down the phone and surveyed Tony again.

Yeah, there was the clothes of a poor kid, the body of a desperate fighter. But in those haunted eyes there was also intelligence. The long fingers twitching and tapping could easily be on a keyboard. He was set determined, and the words that came out of his mouth- though foul- weren't that of a normal druggie. In fact, he didn't even seem to be on anything because the only stink on him was sweat.

"Fine, I believe you- you're the hacker. And the designer of those amazing blueprints."

"Thanks. Do I get the job?"

"No- first you're arrested for shutting down the entire system."

Coulson moved behind the kid before he could react, clapped a pair of handcuffs round him and pulled out the pistol, digging it into Tony's back. He felt the boy stiffen instantly and then try and escape, struggling and stamping painfully on Coulson's feet- he stepped back slightly and the boy wrenched his hands out of Coulson grasp and set off at a run.

Coulson fired a warning shout as Tony tried to open the heavy door to the stairs with his hands cuffed and behind his back. Unfortunately, the kid had far too fast reflexes and ducked out of the way- right into the bullet, which was meant to go widely out of distance of him. It skewed along his arm, bringing a flash of scarlet blood that went up the boy's hoodie and along the corridor. Tony stepped back, stared at the wound, looked at Coulson, wobbled, fell.

Oops.

Well, at least he was downed. It was only a flesh wound. Not even that. A scratch.

Oh fine, it was a flesh wound.

Coulson ripped the edge of the boy's hoodie off and tied it round his arm, lifting the slight body easily up and beginning to carry him downstairs to the car. It was a testament to what the residents had seen that not a single face peeked out at the gun shot, and (Coulson checked) not a single 911 call was made about it. Which was not actually a testament, only slightly depressing, even more so because an agent of theirs (yes, of _course _they were going to offer the kid a job- he was brilliant! Just not after they'd scared him a bit) was living there. Which would hopefully change when the kid got his salary and because he probably didn't know how much typical SHIELD agents were meant to get Coulson would have to talk to Fury about cheating him, which the man would undoubtedly try and do- not because he had a tight budget, see, but mostly because the kid would almost definitely insult him.

Yeah. And the rest of the people in the SHIELD building. At least he wouldn't be as bad as Clint- or Darcy, who Thor had insisted he bring over along with Jane- or Natasha, who though not as prone to pranking as the other two made a habit of intimidating everyone (annoying) she came across..

Oh. Wait. Shit.

This kid was going to be _working _with them.

Would it be so much hassle if he just laid the kid down, just here, and forgot about him? And wiped his memories? And told Fury he couldn't find him? And let everyone else wander along the the delusion the hacker was actually a terrorist group they were still working on catching?

Naw, Fury would see straight through him. With a sigh, Coulson hoisted the kid into the car, slammed the door shut and climbed into the front.

Then he got out again and stared, aghast, at the long, crude scratches someone had keyed into the side of the car.

Well, that was what he got for bringing a car like this to the neighbourhood. Coulson got in again, turned the key, pressed the accelerator and steamed out of there.

**Most definitely _not _happy where it ended.**

**But still. These chapters I'm aiming 4k+ each, but this is no sign of when you're getting updates because I wrote this in a few hours and am still struggling on the next chapter of FTHU and have been struggling on that for longer than two weeks.**

**I'm sorry! I will update soon. I promise. At least within a month. Probably after the second chapter of this. Just... don't lose hope. **

**So review and favourite and follow this, please! I see great things ahead for this story. Not in least including huge dollops of angst and more angst. **

**This is largely unedited. I rarely edit fanfiction works, though I should. Please point out any mistakes, most of which will be large and obvious and make me blush with embarrassment.**

**Three hours later... okay, I edited it a bit. Now up on AO3. Though it said it would take a few days to actually show on the site so I wouldn't advise going looking for it unless this story is that old. Thanks so far for everyone who's reviewed, favourited and followed. Bye!**


	2. Meetings

**CHAPTER TWO- TONY MEETS THE AVENGERS AND OTHER CRAP/**

Tony groaned in pain as his eyes opened blearily to a blurry room.

A hospital. Because it smelled of antiseptic. And was white. And there were creepy figures with face masks looming around him. So... it could also be some alien planet in which everything smelled weird and was white and people wore face masks; but most likely a hospital. And yes, he was a genius. How else could he have decided between those two very likely possibilities?

Though on second thoughts, the alien planet thing...

Oh, right. The creepy figures in face masks were talking to him. Tony struggled to discern actual words from the jumbled mess but found he couldn't actually be bothered and ignored them. He drifted for a while, thinking of Captain America bulletproof spandex designs- wait, what? Why was he thinking of that? A job?! When had that happened? And god, his arm hurt. Right, that crazy bloke who was offering him the job had shot him. Because he was getting arrested. Because he was getting the job? None of this made sense- and how the hell had he got to an alien planet with creepy figures in masks? Tony figured he was a bit high right now and went back to daydreaming about exploding arrows for Hawkeye and snap knives for Black Widow.

The aliens in face masks started talking to him again, or rather he became aware of that fact when they started taking off his clothes. He rolled away on the hospital bed, keeping his injured arm tucked close. "Hey! What are you doing? Get off me, aliens! Help! Rape! They're raping me!"

"Kid, calm down," one of the aliens attempted to say, letting go of his hoodie. "We just noticed some bruises on you and wanted to check them out."

Hah, that sounded wrong. _Check them out. _Did it? Yeah, of course it did.

What? Bruises? Right. They were probably from that three-days-ago beating he'd had when some guy in the building he lived in started raging on everyone for some random reason. Tony had the bad luck to be walking along to his apartment at that exact moment and had taken a punch to the jaw. He should've left it there and crawled away; but no, the great Tony pride couldn't take that and he'd immediately began fighting back. And he might have street-dirty skills but this guy was raging mad and ultra strong and an hour later he was crumpled on the floor with a headache worse than a hangover.

Great Tony pride? That was being sarcastic. That was insulting _himself. _No one insulted Tony. No one. He'd get revenge...

_I am most definitely high, _he thought to himself morosely and focused back on the real world.

The crazy- um, Coulson- was there, talking to the aliens- fine, doctors- and explaining that _the kid was fine thanks very much, _and _yeah I only wanted you to fix up his arm, _and _no child services will not need to be called this is under control thank you very much _and then did this creepy stare which Tony (did _not) _feel scared at, even though it wasn't directed to him, and pushed Tony out of the medic bay and into the actual SHIELD headquarters.

And he didn't know this because he'd hacked into the SHIELD network and spent a few hours memorizing the floor layout plans. No, definitely not.

Coulson gave him a pill which cleared his mind instantly and led him along some winding corridors, all creepily white and long. "You okay, kid?"

"No fucking way, man! I am suing your asses the second I get out of here! You shot me, man!"

Coulson stopped and for a tense second seriously thought about shooting the boy. Then Tony burst out laughing. "The look..." he gasped. "On your face..."

"Hah, funny. Kid."

Coulson started walking again, a brisk, stressed stride that Tony had to jog to catch up with. "In all seriousness though, did I get the job?"

"Yeah. We were only arresting you for a bit of intimidation but when the gun shot obviously did nothing to do that we gave up. We're going to Fury now to work out the details of it."

"Awesome!" Tony beamed. "You got anything to eat before we go?"

Coulson took a deep breath and continued walking. "You want to keep the head of this all waiting even longer and get him even madder, added to the insults you are undoubtedly going to supply him with the second you meet him, then go ahead. Canteen's round the corner." Coulson finished sarcastically.

Tony was already taking off. "Hey, kid! Where are you going?"

"Canteen." Tony looked back at him with a quizzical look. "You said I could go."

"I said..." Coulson sighed deeply and thought wistfully of the days when the only thing he had to worry about was Clint's pranks. "Just follow me." he said curtly and opened the door to Fury's study.

Fury was engrossed in his paperwork (which reminded Coulson of the torturous pile he had to finish from Natasha's last 'incident' with the man in the café who'd asked for her bra and had obviously ended in hospital) so didn't notice Coulson open the door. Tony had run back at this point and was about to go in before Coulson stopped him and hissed in his ear, "You say all the insults you want, but don't go anywhere near the pirate jokes, understand?"

"Sheesh, whatever." Tony sighed but nodded, following Coulson in. Fury looked up from his paperwork, single eye gleaming as he examined the boy.

"Who's the kid?" Fury eventually asked, turning to Coulson and crossing his arms.

Tony turned towards Coulson too, crossing his arms in an imitation of Fury. "Yeah, Coulson. Who's the pirate?"

_HEADPLANT. _

Thirty five minutes, ninety eight insults, one coffee and a gun threat later they managed to move onto the subject they'd come here for in the first place; Tony's job. "So." Fury said, sitting back as if he couldn't care less. Which he probably couldn't. "You'll be working as tech helper, weapons designer and defence system person for the Avengers. Wages will be paid into your account. Obviously there is the complication of you being a child-"

"What about it? I can do anything an adult can do! Better! Haven't you seen my-"

Fury continued as if Tony hadn't spoken. "This is illegal, employing a minor, but-"

"You do plenty of illegal things! I've seen the files! And-"

Ditto. "-we are beyond the law. However, some people might be a little... offended by this, so your contact will be limited to only the Avengers and Coulson. The Avengers have a floor to their own so this should not be a problem. You'll arrive there at seven in the morning, work in a lab we've set up for you, get one of the Avengers to bring you lunch any time you want and leave straight from there at five o' clock. There are three people who are not the Avengers living on that floor; Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis and Betty Ross. You will try and avoid them as much as possible but no worry if they do see you.

"Furthermore, the Avengers often participate in... _extra curricular activities_ such as movie nights. If they invite you to join them, you say no. Though with that wonderful personality of yours I'd be surprised if they do." Tony scowled and stuck his tongue childishly at the one eyed man. "The Avengers may have some precautions about your age. Tell them that the truth; you've graduated from high school at fourteen and this is a legal, above board job. Again, under no circumstances are you or they to reveal your existence to any outsiders. Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it." Tony huffed, slightly put out by this- staying on one floor the whole time? Not being to annoy _anyone_ but the Avengers?

But annoying the Avengers. That was good. Very, very good. A rare, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

And the small matter of the money, of course.

"Right." said Coulson, ushering Tony out before Fury could engage him in another insult exchanging contest. "God, I am so glad that's over."

"Can I have food now?" Tony asked energetically, bouncing up and down (with his injured arm held close to himself, Coulson noticed with a small wince of guilt) and searching the corridors for the canteen.

"No, because SHIELD agents are always in there and you aren't meant to be seen by any of them, remember? I thought you were meant to be some kind of genius?"

"I am." Tony said. "but I'm also hungry. Because the only thing I've had in the last forty eight hours is coffee, some beer, and a half finished plate of chips I stole off the couple on a bench."

Coulson felt some sympathy but continued steering the boy to the lift. "What do you expect me to do about that?"

"Can't we pretend I'm your son or something?"

"You?" Coulson snorted derisively. "Not likely."

And when they got in the lift he pretended he hadn't seen a flash of hurt in the kid's eyes, before he blinked and it was gone again.

It wasn't his fault, alright? He didn't have to look after every wretch that came along. He'd saved the world enough times as it was.

"Sorry about the bullet." he said awkwardly to Tony as the doors to the lift slid shut.

"Which button do I press?"

"What?"

"The buttons. Which one do I press for the Avengers floor?"

"And they said you were a genius." Coulson muttered under his breath. "The one with an Avengers logo sticker plastered over it." Which had obviously been Clint's work; he'd popped down the nearest shop and bought a pack of kid's Avengers stickers, and stuck them round the headquarters. At least three were on the lifts around the building.

"Oh, I thought that was a joke or something." Tony said distantly, pressing the button then stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning against the bar. "What did you say before?"

"I'm sorry about the arm."

"No harm," Tony said, waving it off. "I've had worse."

"You've been shot before?"

"No, but I got thrown off a ten storey building."

"_What? _Why?"

"Well, it's kinda complicated. There was basically this girl I had sex with when I was about fourteen, like you do- I think she was nineteen or something- and then she got all pissy because immediately after that I banged her best friend. So she sends her brother after me, this big bloke who's probably on steriods, and he roughs me round a bit. And then we fuck. And then the girl finds me, which is like, really awkward, and I laugh, and then her boyfriend throws me off the roof."

Coulson gaped.

Then, "I didn't get a word of that."

"Told you it was complicated."

"But it sounded... wrong. Shouldn't you talk to someone about it? Do something?"

Tony looked at him quizzically. "It was years ago, man. Why are you getting so worked up about it?"

"Because.. it's just... not right."

"Mm, yeah. I think you said that. You know, 'not right' being the same thing as 'wrong'?"

"Funny." Coulson snorted. The lift doors opened on the Avengers floor. "Right, I gotta go and do some paperwork. I'll be back to drive you home later. Today you don't have to work; just meet your team, settle in, all that stuff. Bye!"

The lift doors closed.

Tony scowled, scuffed the carpeted floor with his too big trainer, looked around cautiously. He was in some sort of living room, Avengers posters plastered round the room amongst pretty paintings and decimated in different ways; the Hulk wearing a dress, Hawkeye's name at the top of one with the 'eye' crossed out and 'ass' scrawled instead, the man with a bow now 'Hawkass'- Black Widow had a scrawled moustache and a beard, Thor had a giant pack of Pop Tarts and a broken remote in his hands, with big lips painted on his stern face and little love hearts posted around them. Captain America had a bikini over his suit and was standing on a block of melting eyes.

He laughed. Looked like the Avengers had a sense of humour.

Couches were also around the room, popcorn scattered haphazardly and a massive screen in the corner of the room, Jason Bourne staring, paused, out of the television. A note was attached to it; _Thor, DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH THIS, THEY ARE NOT ALIVE, yours sincerely the too-long-television-less-Avengers. _A door at the opposite end was clanging open, showing a corridor with a stand up, cardboard take of the Avengers, all similarly ruined like the posters.

Huh. It felt almost... homely.

Well, no time to feel sorry for himself. Sorry for himself? When had the thought ever crossed his mind? Don't be stupid, Tony, you were moping about how you'd like to live in this just now. I was _so _not-

Tony quickly crossed the room and went into the corridor because really, he wasn't going mad. Honest.

There were a row of identical doors on the wall directly opposite, a sign saying CLINT'S ROOM, FUCK OFF hanging off one. Tony assumed these were the bedrooms and crossed to the large double doors hanging slightly open through which he could hear voices. He nudged it open, gawked openly at the huge training hall complete with punching bags and benches and mats and poles and, of course, the Avengers, standing on separate mats and sparring. They stopped when they saw him, looking curiously while Captain America asked him cautiously what he was doing.

"I'm Tony." he greeted, walking in and sitting down on the bench at the side. "Your new tech helper and weapons designer and stuff. Yes, I'm not eighteen, yes, Fury already said it was okay, no, you don't have a say in the matter, no, Captain's ass doesn't look good in anything but spandex."

Natasha was amused, Clint indignant over the whole no-say-in-the-matter thing (he liked getting hung up on inconsequential details), Thor still working out the speech, Bruce also amused, Steve blushing.

"Did you know you're shorter in real life than you are on telly?" Tony asked Clint. "And you're not as green." he said to Bruce. "For some reason. And you don't look as good in anything but leather, covered in alien gloop," he informed Natasha. "And for someone who's been living on Earth for over a year, you haven't grasped modern language that well, have you?"

Everyone properly insulted, he sat and watched the reactions.

Oh. Now they were all laughing. As if it was funny. Huh- that hadn't turned out the way he'd thought.

"I like the way you think." Clint grinned, coming over and sitting next to him. "Clint Barton, a.k.a Hawkeye, at your service."

"Uh..."

"That's Natasha- you can call her Nat- you obviously know Thor- Captain America's real name is Steve, the not-so-green-guy is Bruce, and-"

"Bruce Banner?" Tony interrupted. "Right. I knew it! Anyway, I read your work on genetic molecules and I was wondering if you knew that if you apply formula B to the actual gene then it does mutate, whereas you only tried formula A and called it quits, actually it's formula B with the last bit tweaked- plus a bit of titanium, I have no idea why that works but it does. So you can actually chemically mutate a gene-"

"Actually," Bruce said, looking interested and engaging in conversation. "It would not be possible to _fully _mutate the gene unless you are obviously born that way- it is either temporary or has side effects like cancer-"

"But if you balance it out with 3h then the side effects will go, right? And-"

"Guys." Clint said. "It's nice you're getting along and all, but we're kind of feeling stupid here. You know it's rude to speak a different language when others can't understand you?"

"Right," Tony laughed. "I forget that not everyone is as brilliant as me."

Clint gasped in mock hurt. "That's offensive! Remember I can shoot you in the heart from three thousand miles away in a moving plane."

"Is that a threat? Because I'm gonna be the one making your weapons from now on, and I know just what to press to make them backfire."

"I'm still not sure about a kid doing this." Steve spoke up. Tony turned on him angrily.

"What, you think I'm not experienced or something? Guess who shut down the whole system last night with a few bits of code from a public library?"

"That was you?" Natasha asked, raising her eyebrows in mild shock. "Techies are going to kill you. They were so goddamn stressed last night I felt like shooting them myself."

"Good thing they're not gonna see me." Tony smirked. "And that no one is allowed to reveal my existence beyond the people in this room."

"That's another thing." Steve said. "You're a kid. Shouldn't you be at school?"

"Graduated at fourteen."

"College?"

"can't afford it."

"And what do your parents think of this noble endeavour?" Thor boomed, speaking up at last.

Tony looked up sharply and scowled with hatred. "You think they care?" Because one was dead, one in France, but he didn't mention that.

All the Avengers had experienced family problems- or lack of a family to have problems with- and felt sympathy, especially for the young boy, who was obviously poor with the way he dressed. That would all change once he saw his salary from SHIELD which they supposed was good.

They spent more than an hour getting to know each-other, chatting about ideas for the team and opinions on everything- noting that the second Tony heard their opinions, he changed his to go against theirs, seeming to probe and push and test their boundaries with a compulsion they found disturbing. By mutual agreement they tolerated it and tried to ignore it and for most part succeeded. "You're actually nicer then I'd thought you'd be." Tony said later, with uncharacteristic sincerity. "You don't get... annoyed as easily. And don't treat me like a child."

Clint raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Aw, sweetie, that's so cute!" he said, leaning over and ruffling the boy's hair, dislodging Tony's hood. Tony put his hand up to stop Clint with a scowl, then gasped in pain and quickly lowered it again.

"Something wrong with your arm?" Bruce asked, quickly observing the bandages and tender way Tony held it.

Tony saw an oppurtunity and inwardly grinned.

The kid's eyes glazed slightly with tears and his lower lip wobbled. "I... he... he shot me. Because I was being bad."

"Someone _shot _you?!" Steve shouted, immediately angry on Tony's behalf. "Who?"

"I..." Tony looked up through his lashes and shivered, huddling in on himself. "I deserved it."

A tint of green began to grow in Banner's eyes and the rest of the Avengers grew even more angry.

"Tony," said Natasha calmly, laying a hand on his shoulder. "No one should ever shoot a child, whatever they've done. Now tell us who it was."

Tony ducked his head and mumbled something.

"What?" asked Clint.

"Coulson. It was Coulson."

They all reared back at the clearly spoken words and looked at each other in distress. Coulson? Coulson, who'd nearly died in the Loki attack? Coulson, who had bought them all together? Coulson, the best SHIELD agent in the company? Steve shook his head, not quite believing it and pressed the button on the side of the wall that would alert the agents with the communication system. "Send Coulson down, please." he said tersely into the phone.

They sat in silence for around five minutes before Coulson came calmly walking in. He caught sight of Tony, surrounded by the Avengers- before the Avengers noticed, Tony gave his a triumphant smile and wink. "Tony." he said wearily. "What have you done?"

The Avengers immediately turned to him and Tony flinched back as if he'd been hit. "Please... please don't hurt me." he said in a small voice, pressing closer to Clint.

"What?" asked Coulson, confused. Steve stood up and walked over to him.

"Did you shoot Tony?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"You are hereby under arrest for the abuse of a minor and illegal usage of a gun, under the authority of the Avengers."

"_What?! _Tony!"

Tony grinned at him. "Told you I'd get you back for shooting me."

"You never said that! You actually told me a very disturbing story of things that have been done worse to you!"

"Oh, that was true. But that didn't mean I wasn't angry. It was just to put you of track and make you think I didn't care. That's what you get for trying to arrest and shoot me."

"_Tony, _it was an _ACCIDENT!_"

"What?" Steve said, confusion clear on his features. Clint rolled his eyes and sighed, coming over and putting a hand on Steve's shoulder while Tony leant against the wall and snickered. "Steve, my dear man." he said in a false English accent. "I do believe we've been had."

Everyone turned to Tony.

"Oh god, look at the time." he half shouted, in a gabble. "I gotta go. Mum will have dinner ready, my sister's just gone to hospital, my girlfriend's in labour, I just won the lottery and have to pick up my prize, I'm gonna be late, see you tomorrow- please don't be angry, it's a medical condition, I have to get revenge, I'm a compulsive liar, I've had a bad childhood, I'm just a child, technically he _did _shoot me- bye!" He ran to the lift and jumped in, jabbing furiously at the buttons until they closed.

The Avengers stared towards the lift, mystified. Coulson sighed and sank against the wall. "I knew this would be a bad idea."

**Oh. God. **

**I hate this chapter so much. The first one, I was in love with. I'm already writing out deliciously angsty scenes to come. I was looking forwards to this so much that first thing this morning I got up and started to write;**

**And write;**

**And write;**

**And got through no less then _twenty three _copies of this chapter, most more than 1k, seven completed then discarded. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a new record.**

**So please don't complain, I already feel mad at the shittiness of this chapter. Next one will be better, I hope.**

**If this is on fanfiction- Review! Favourite! Follow!**

**If this is on AO3- Comment! Give kudos! Bookmark! (And being new to this site, I have no idea what a bookmark is, but it's good- right?)**

**Thanks. Bye!**


	3. Old Habits

**The Thing About Old Habits (And Crappy Titles) **

**A.k.a., Chapter 3, proudly presented to you by Shadowing inc.**

**(Wtf does 'inc.' mean?)**

Tony sloped home after the hilarious- um, really-bad-he'd-never-do-it-again-what-had-got-int o-him?- incident at the SHIELD headquarters. He'd gone into the lift and pressed a load of random buttons, going up and down and shoving any agents who tried to come in with a ferocity because he didn't want to lose his job by showing himself to someone before he'd even started it.

It was dark by then, so he stole a frozen lasagne from Wal Mart. There was a guy from school, back that long, long time ago, who he'd stopped getting bullied a few times- not because Tony was _noble _or anything, he just knew the guy was rich and hoped for some favours down the line, which he certainly got- so Tony stopped off there and heated up the lasagne, nodding to the guy (who's name he could never remember) and running off, eating it in the alley outside. He shovelled the hot, delicious meat and slimy pasta down with his bare fingers then discarded it, thanking his younger self for the foresight to get someone indebted to him and starting to walk home. The downside of that was that he had to travel right from the good side of the area to the bad side, which included taking routes full of drunken mobsters and the usual gangs that lurked around at this time. Tony managed to avoid them, but this was one of the lucky times; usually he'd get kicked around a bit at the very least, having to practically crawl home which was hell when he got to the stairs.

Stumbling upstairs, he fumbled for his key and unlocked the door, taking care to momentarily disable the security measures beforehand. He brushed a hand across his eyes and yawned loudly, looking blurringly towards the mattress at the corner.

This time was about the time he'd go out and sneak into some club, pick up anyone- male or female, young or fairly young, rich or poor- go back to their place, have sex. Wake up, snag breakfast, disappear back to his place to do some work.

Yeah, he was fifteen. And most of the people he did it with where around twenty. And most of them knew quite well he was fifteen. And he didn't need to do it; he wasn't getting anything out of it; it was illegal, irresponsible, a waste of time, probably messing up his future, definitely messing up his head- and he didn't stop. He knew all those things were wrong. Tony knew he should really quit, now.

But; old habits died hard. Going through the system got some people into drugs, some into drink, some into suicidal tendencies. Tony got into sex and didn't get out again. There was no one to stop him, caution him; the only potential parent figures in his life asked if they could have a go. And he enjoyed it. There was probably some physiological thing saying he was fucked up and there was a reason for all this, but Tony knew that. He didn't have to go to some prying therapist for all that crap because he wasn't going to stop and it didn't matter, anyway. So he waltzed along and did that occasionally, did this occasionally, got jobs on the internet, stole food from Wal-Mart, maybe washed the dishes for a couple of bucks in the restaurant down the road. Life went on. That was all there was to it.

Tony would usually do it around now- but god, that day had been tiring. He had a job. He'd met a bunch of people who were maybe on his brain and skill level. And maybe could be valued as friends.

Maybe now it was time to change?

Tony locked the door and collapsed onto the mattress, drawing the covers around and above him so he was cocooned in a next of blankets. He stared into the back of his closed eyelids and completed the chemical formula that would strengthen Hawkeye's arrows and disable anyone they touched, as well as a formula which would make the Avengers immune to it if they needed to pick the arrows up or something. And maybe a small bomb strapped to the head of the arrow, primed to detonate one second after hitting flesh- or maybe there could be different ones, one after three seconds, one after five, a minute, two minutes; so on and so forth- and they could be different colours, so Hawkeye- Clint- knew which one to get. And they could even be used as grenades, lobbed or shot into somewhere with a countdown until they exploded. And what about-

Sometime amidst the frenzied thought trails Tony must've fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes they were crusted with sleep. His body was heavy and a weak light filtered through the grimy window, washing over the room (which he really should clean sometime) and casting a milky wave of shadows on the piles of dusty and fluttering blueprints pinned up against the wall. Tony yawned and discarded the blankets, standing up and pulling on a new pair of jeans and shirt- he cast around but couldn't find anything else to go on top, so picked up his customary blue hoodie and slipped that on. God, it was _freezing. _And he couldn't even turn on the heating- _damn you, electricity bills._

Mm, gah, he had something to do today... fuck it, he wasn't spending hours trawling the web for jobs he could do. Today, Tony was going to the bank, extracting all his meagre savings (every cent of the 3,49.04 dollars currently in there) and spitting on the acceptance letter MIT had sent him way back; and spending it all. On. Coffee. Cup after cup after cup. Then, with the glorious caffeine racing through his veins, he'd go and do something so undeniably stupid it would be sure to... sure to...

Fine, there wasn't a goal to all this. But Tony was fricking _tired, _man. Tired of doing the same thing, day after day. Hoping for something that would never come true. Knowing that in the very likely occasion he died, _no one would care. _Today wasn't about doing something; it was about spending the dregs of his future on a day that would assure him, once and for all, that he was useless.

Wallowing in this stream of self pity, Tony got out of the flat complex and wandered down to the nearest coffee-

Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap. Actually, it wasn't that bad. But it was bad. Very bad. See, he'd just realised that- yes- he had a job.

(And he was late.)

Ok, that was bad. Tony looked mournfully towards the glowing interior of the coffee shop, feeling his self pity go. Which was a shame, because he'd really been looking forwards to that caffeine. What? That was stupid. He should be happy, because he actually had a _job, _and not just a job, an _Avengers job-_

Which (fuck it all) he was late for.

Tony started jogging towards the SHIELD headquarters, which were luckily only half an hour away or so. He wondered if he needed to bring any supplies or anything- well, it didn't matter, since he didn't own anything that could be of use that wasn't already being used as security measures or mods on his phone. Speaking of which- Tony pulled it out and hacked into the phone network, quickly gaining the contacts of all the Avengers and adding them to his list. He thought for a moment before adding Coulson and Fury, labelling Coulson the 'Trigger Happy Jerk' and Fury the 'Tight Arse Pirate' which, well, weren't exactly the most original of names but would have to do for now.

He arrived at the SHIELD headquarters and ducked behind the building, entering a code into the tiny pad next to the tiny door like Coulson had told him to the day before; this would enable him to get straight into the lift without having to encounter any of the SHIELD staff, going straight to the Avengers floor. Models and ideas he'd thought up last night whirled excitedly in his head, just itching to be made real with fluid metal and glowing vials and equations and codes and prints that all formed together to complete a perfect replica of the things in his mind; glorious things, of steel and chemicals and bulletproof glass.

This was going to be awesome.

)())()(()()()()()()()(

Clint was finishing his normal morning routine of scouting the building.

Old habits died hard, after all. Every morning he'd get up really early, sit on the roof for a bit and scan for assassins who might happen to sneak past SHIELD's radar on that particular morning in that particular window of five minutes or so- or that was Clint's excuse for sky gazing, anyway- and then drop into the air vents. He'd crawl around the whole building, listening on conversations to gain snippets of information (which he would then trade with Darcy or Natasha, both who also had ways of gathering information and all three where henceforth heralded as the people to go to whenever something happened; Clint had his air vents, Darcy her junior agents, and Natasha her general intimidating looks) and maybe set up a few pranks in those quiet hours of the morning, where the only people there were the Avengers, night-time techies (who monitored world wide radios and satellites for midnight invasions) and Fury, because everyone knew Fury was a workaholic and rarely left the building. And if he did, it was to go on missions. Or check on agents. _Or buy a new eye patch._

Dammit, that new kid was getting to him.

Clint mused on this new line of thought; Tony. They'd discussed him when the boy had left. It was surprising how little they knew; he was around fifteen years of age, had neglectful or generally uncaring parents, was out of school, too poor to afford college yet clever enough to both graduate early and gain a high level job at SHIELD. He had a sense of humour, which coupled with wit, sarcasm, teenagerish boredom and cynicism too old for a boy of his age made for a sharp tongue and even sharper eyes. The medics who fixed his arm up told of bruises on his body that he hadn't let them treat and yet he spoke loudly enough of his gun wound from Coulson, going as far to do that _hilarious _con-

Cough. Clint totally didn't think that. Dammit, the kid was really getting to him.

Going as far to do that _extremely deceiving yet still hilarious _con- yeah, the kid was certainly a conundrum. And they didn't even know his surname. He'd introduced himself as Tony and none of them had thought to ask more.

These facts meant they should be wary of him; but, as far as their conversation had gone yesterday, his company (once you looked past the insults) was charming and engaging. Except when he went of in those scientific rants with Bruce which none of the team could understand. Clint found he was looking forwards to seeing the kid today; which was more than surprising, since Clint rarely enjoyed kids' company. When he was a kid, he was in a circus and mourni-

Nope, no, no way, he wasn't _thinking _about that. He hadn't thought about it in five years now, and he wasn't about to start now.

An aroma of pancakes floated up the vents, to where Clint was crouched on the Avengers floor. His stomach growled hungrily and he scrambled after it, dropping out of the vents in a crouch and casting around for that glorious- hey, why were all the Avengers standing around and laughing? Why was Steve grinning and lowering the plate from the vents as if he'd been holding it up there, as if to attract someone- "Very funny." he growled, snatching the plate of Steve and sliding onto the table, catching the bottle of maple syrup from Darcy, who was munching a stack of her own on the couch, and squeezed it over his plate.

Oh god, this- this was what he lived for.

_Pancakes._

"Bruce," he told the man through a full mouth. "Have I ever told you I'm in love with you?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, actually. Many times. Mainly when you're eating my food."

"Well. It's true." Clint finished, then decided talking was far too much of a hassle when there was- true to god _pancakes _resting right in front of him. He squeezed a load more maple syrup on it and stuffed it in his mouth, ignoring the disgusted look Natasha shot at him, because Thor was far worse when confronted with food. Any food. Clint was just like this with pancakes.

Steve finished his coffee and stood up at the front of the kitchen. "Right, team." he said to get everyone's attention. "We did plenty training yesterday, and there's no current attacks going on so today is a free day. I mean, we're focusing on team bonding." Everyone whooped at this, because team bonding meant movies and pizza and getting in disguises to go around the high street and shop. And visit the comic store and laugh at the Marvel takes of them- yes, they had sold their lives stories and rights for a bit of petty cash so they could be included in the brightly coloured issues, and yes, it was a shameless thing to do but it was quite frankly awesome to have their comics up there with the old time superheroes. "And we can get to know that Tony kid a bit more, since he's gonna be part of the team." Steve added, almost as an afterthought. "Remember what we discussed yesterday; he probably won't get scared by us, but try not to conjure up any thunder storms around him." the last was directed to Thor.

"I don't know," Bruce said thoughtfully. "I'd think he'd be more impressed then scared- every other teenager in the world is."

"Most likely he'd just make fun of it somehow." Clint smirked.

"Okay!" Cap conceded. "Do what you like. Try and bond with him, though- it is team bonding today and if he's gonna be the guy making our weapons from now on we need to try and get to know him better."

There were nods and murmurs of assent round the room. Clint finished his pancakes, yawned, stretched, went to the dor and opened it, then stood there siletnly.

The Avengers raised eyebrows at him.

Ten seconds later a familiar teen in a hoodie came sloping down the corridor. Tony grinned at Clint and walked in, flopping down at the table and stealing one of Natasha's pancakes with a familiarity of someone they'd known for years instead of hours. And surprisingly enough, Natasha didn't kill him.

Or even _say anything. _

She didn't even scowl!

Clint regarded this with jealousy before realising Natasha was either a) catching up on years of non-existent motherly instincts or b) just plotting a gruesome revenge in her head, and of the two options b was most definitely the most likely while a had about 3% chance of being correct.

"Hey." Tony said, finishing the pancake and grinning at the Avengers. "Sup?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow and put his glass in the sink for later. "You did know you're late? You were meant to come at 7."

Tony scowled. "Leave. Me. Alone. I woke up depressed and decided to spend all my money on coffee and then when I got down there realised my beautiful caffeine infused day was to be just a dream because I had a stupid job, and I really wanted that caffiene coz I was gonna get a black latte with no sugar and then a white espresso with loads and loadsa sugar and then maybe a frappucino 'cause you can never go wrong with frappucino's, and a- wait, I digress, but I always digress, so yeah, and isn't digress such a weird word? But anyway, I was gonna have all that coffeee before I realised I had a job and had to go to it and it was late and there weren't no buses so I had to walk here and I was gonna be late but you guys looked like you just woke up and I got a free pancake didn't I, and oh god those pancakes are amazing I fail at cooking who made them?"

The Avengers watched with a slight sense of fear, sighing in relief as the divulge from Tony's mouth stopped. Clint- the only one who had actually understood any of it- answered to the last question, "Bruce."

Which was a bad idea.

"Bruce? Oh right well you're amazing but I knew you were amazing even before you made pancakes because you're, you know, the Hulk and I used to have a Hulk t shirt except I had to rip it up and use it to bandage my leg-" he looked mildly upset at that, "-because I cut it when this drunk guy threw a bottle at me because I insulted him but I only insulted him because I felt like it and there's no need to resort to physical violence, is there? AH I'm digressing again so yeah, the Hulk, and another reason you're awesome is that I love your works and did you know you commented on one of my pseudonym's works a coupla years ago? When I saw I literally died because it was, well, Bruce Banner and then I realised that I was never gonna meet you but here I am now, so, well. And the only reason I'm here is because I hacked the SHIELD network and isn't that hilarious? SO hilarious and I think I shut it down which was like, oops. But I checked last night they've got it up again so I guess I didn't do much damage. I knew what I could do though, to completely shut it down, I'd have to minus all the last line of code and translate it all to the first tech language, which would take ages, then embed it in the old firewall, which is on their side so could get in easily and self destruct in the server, ruining all the information- and I could first send in a bot to copy everything, but I'd have to open up a hole in the new firewalls for that which would mean bypassing that _annoying- _yeah, whatever, you don't get any of this. Right. Well. So anyway what are you guys doing today? Aliens? Monsters? Flaming turnips that pelt you from hell because you caused the apocalypse by not putting a pen in the gutter?"

Several mouths had dropped open by this point and minds were already tired. Again, only Clint had understood it while the others only got the general gist. "...we're relaxing." Clint told Tony.

"Oh." Tony looked mildly disappointed at this. "Kay, I'm gonna go down the lab and start work. Someone show me where it is?"

"We're actually doing team bonding." Steve said with a slight frown. "You should join us, not go down the lab. It'll be fun."

"Ah, I'm kinda not allowed to do anything not related to actual work, Fury's orders. And anyway I'm not part of the team- _yet." _He gave an evil grin at this, hopping off the stool and walking over to the door. "And I really need to start on some of the stuff. I got loadsa stuff planned last night, like-"

"New rule." Clint announced, cutting Tony off as he stood up. "No rants in the morning."

"Seconded." Natasha said quickly, sending a sidelong glance along at Tony, who looked faintly abashed.

"Please." Steve agreed.

"...sorry Tony, but that is possibly the best rule I've heard since no-Thor-near-television." Bruce nodded.

"Though I do not agree with what the kind doctor has said," Thor boomed. "But the rule about this 'ranting' is good. I did not understand what you said."

"Motion passed." Clint announced formally. "Anyone younger then twenty is not allowed to speak in the morning."

"What?" Tony said indignantly. "That's not fair! No one ever agreed to that, they just agreed to ranting, and anyway rants are good they increase brain cells and ability to speak and vocabulary and all that crap and I wasn't even ranting, I was just explaining things in a long winded way there's nothing wrong with that-"

"That is why you aren't allowed to speak." Clint interrupted promptly. "Because everything you say turns into a rant. _Everything. _Now down to the lab, if you're not gonna hang out with us, kid."

"Mm, whatever- wait, lab? Cool! Going, going, this is gonna be so awesome, I can't wait to-"

"Tony."

Tony looked at Bruce.

"Yup?"

"C'mon."

The two disappeared from the room and Steve sagged in relief. "Obviously it's a morning thing." he said wearily to the rest of the team. "Right, finish up then we're going out."

**Sorry I'm so late with this. I was going to extend it to the whole day, but realised I'd left it far too late to update (hey, that rhymed! Imma poet and I didn't even know it) so might as well just put this unedited specimen up. Most likely when the first review comes in I'll read the chapter again and see all the things I need to edit, finally get off my arse and edit, but right now I'm posting it like this. Mistakes pointed out would be greatly appreciated.**

**So. This has an actual plot. It's angsty, long, twisty, amazing. But before I get to the plot Tony needs to bond with the Avengers. **

**(I hate writing bonding.)**

**(Because that means fluff.)**

**(Fluff.)**

**(Excuse me while I gag.)**

**So I need your help. Just scenarios, little plot in actual story thing which will bring Tony closer to the Avengers and get them to know him. I'm thinking of skipping a few months and they're all getting along really well so I can proceed to the plot, but that's kinda cheating- offer me up ideas and I'll do them, if not I might as well just go with that.**

**Finally. Help, please. You know Thor has these nicknames for everyone- for Tony, 'Man of Iron', Coulson, 'Son of Coul', (or something) I've literally come up blank and those are the only two I remember. What does he call the other Avengers? HELP NEEDED.**

**Review, please. **


	4. Then Some Other Things Happen

**Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry. Stuff happened. Then school. Then exams. LOTS OF EXAMS. And I am still waiting for the result. Stress and boredom combined to finally push out this chapter. SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY-**

**Then Some Other Things Happen**

Tony tapped his fingers nervously on the computer screen and sighed in appreciation.

Bruce had left him alone in the lab- _finally- _and he'd pounced excitedly on the unopened boxes lining the room, the drives piled up next to the (NEW!) computer which had the newest version of Windows on it and all the updates the thing could handle and perfect, super fast Internet connection and- well that was beautiful and all, but even better was opposite it; a whole bunch of wires and metal and empty blueprints and sharp pencils and beautiful equipment not his usual scratched EBay wares, and in the boxes were vials of liquid and rare metals and sharp bolts and _oh god he was not drooling. _

This was what you got when you did things under the power of the most famous superhero team in the world. So there, social-workers-you're-good-for-nothing-but-fucking . Look at me _now. _

What to do _first? _So many things- Captain America's suit, Hawkeye's bow and arrows, and Black Widow- so many gadgets he could give her that he wanted to faint- where to start, where to start? Right, well he'd pick up these interesting looking pieces of metal now. What was that on the label? _Extremely explosive- handle with care. _Oh, he knew this metal. He'd tried to access it via black market network for some wonderful experiments he'd never got round to finishing but couldn't afford it.

That pay check was looking so amazing right now. Clothes, food, warmth, maybe even somewhere better to live, eventually. He'd have his university funds secured in no time, and that was even if he needed to go to university- they could be retirement funds and he could stay in this amazing job for the rest of his life.

Hah, wishful thinking. They were soon going to find out what he was really like and try and ditch him as soon as possible, and there was no way this was lasting longer than a year. But that was enough time to gain some pretty amazing funds of the numbers and digits he'd never seen before.

Work. He had to work. Um, ok, this metal. If he combined it with cyanide- did they have some of that? Yeah, in the box over there- and covered it in a thin layer of titanium alloy, then shaped it to an arrowhead and stuck it to the top of a stick with quivers- voila, explodable (yes, explodable wasn't a word, mind spell-check SHUT THE FUCK UP) poisonous arrow. Beautiful. If he upped the dose every arrow he could make the explosion bigger every time- ah wait, the weight would drag the tip down- though, if he hollowed it out it would be light enough to fly and though it wouldn't cause that big an explosion, it would be big enough to kill someone if connected. Especially with the added poison. Okay- he tipped the metal into a jar and heated it up in the awesome heating-up-thingy at the side of the lab, just remembering to slap on goggles (he didn't want a repeat of the lost eyebrows incident back in first grade) and hammered it into an arrow shape, blowing a bubble in the middle and freezing the titanium alloy around it to secure a hollow middle. Now sharpen it, round off that bottom edge, leave to cool, repeat a dozen times with bigger doses in each one. Paint a small mark on each side so it is recognisable, superglue on arrow fletching, put both onto those smooth metal sticks they'd supplied for the arrows. Gather up. Put in 'Hawkeye' section.

Done.

Tony checked the clock, mind already whirring with ideas- it was half four, he'd-

What? _Half past fucking four? _

(That 'fucking' was totally unnecessary.)

(Shut up.)

Well, who cared about the time? Let's start on that bulletproof Captain America suit. They'd helpfully supplied a spare of the costumes for Tony to experiment on- he grabbed up the Captain America one and laid it flat on the floor, watching it look as flat and strange without a human inside of it.

(It bought back memories, of those tapes his father had left. He'd watched them aged seven and again and again and they'd ruined him. Those clips of the man who'd very publically been revealed to abuse him- _fists, hard fists, Daddy please stop I didn't do anything- _of him speaking calmly and with no expression, telling Tony how fucking _useless _he was, how Captain America was _so much better _and you can _never aspire to be like him you fucking bastard-_)

Tony scowled and unclenched his hands, which had unknowingly formed into fists. He walked across the lab and forced himself to ignore the burning behind his eyes, picking up a number of components- he'd have to test small amounts and soak spandex in them, see which one worked best, then add threads of aluminium- lighten it with a liquid that burnt away some particles, put just enough on to thin the suit and then thicken it again with the bulletproof liquid- for that he'd need to combine equal parts of- did he have them? Yes- and add them to a base of- what would work? Molten iron? It would work, but be too heavy. Maybe steel? Yeah, so melt that and get the part ready, put each one in tester tubes, combine, stir, soak patches of spandex in each tube, hang them up to dry- now he needed a gun, to test it.

No guns in here. He'd have to go out of the lab- _noooooo- _and see if the Avengers would give him one.

With a sigh, Tony took off his goggles and rolled his hoodie sleeves back down, checking to see everything was safe and disconnected. He crossed the lab to the door and began on the stairs which led up to the main Avengers floor. The kitchen was empty; he checked what seemed to be a games room, no one; ah, sounds from the living room. He opened the door and stepped in, noting quickly the Avengers scattered on sofas around the room. "Hey," he greeted, flopping onto the sofa next to Clint and squinting at the television- they had some movie on, and were watching it with avid interest.

"So the genius finally graces us with his presence!" announced Clint grandly, finally noticing him. Tony frowned in confusion, then sighed at the clock, which showed a clear time of 12:43AM. Oops.

"Did you like the lab?" Steve enquired politely, taking his eyes for a moment away from the screen.

"Um, yes-" Tony said hesitantly. "Um, I kind of need a gun?"

"Back cupboard, bottom right." Natasha told him broadly, swiping a thread of hair away from her face. "Actually-"

"Bottom left," Bruce corrected. She glared at him, then shrugged and turned back to the television.

"I believe there is a stock of these rifles you mortals have next to the toasting machine." Thor boomed. Tony raised his eyebrows in mystification- how many guns did they have around here anyway?

Clint sat up suddenly and paused, then bent down and pulled a gun out of his boot, throwing it to Tony who caught it with surprise. "Um-" he started. "Thanks?"

"What do you need it for, anyway?" Bruce asked.

"Some. Stuff. Is it- you know- legal?"

They all laughed at this, as if it was some inside joke only they knew, then ignored him and turned back to the television. Tony stood up slowly and backed out of the room, reminding himself to get some body armour and always wear it to work because they had so many guns you never knew what could happen.

...Aaaand that sounded totally wrong he was going back into the lab.

)())()(()()()()()()()(

The Avengers went to bed.

Tony finished Captain America's suit. It included many things being broken and a few alarms being set off that he had to quickly hack into to disable via mainframe system. He started on rocket boots for anyone who wanted them because he'd always wanted to make rocket boots and then fell asleep.

The Avengers woke up.

The Avengers decided that today- this whole week, in fact- was a holiday because they worked _so hard, _and they needed to induct their latest member, which was _totally _work, and where was Tony, anyway? Still in the lab. They should go and wake him up. Ahhh, Clint, you go. You're the most friendly.

But I don't _want to_!

Clint.

Fine.

)())()(()()()()()()()(

Clint opened the door to the lab and walked in, eyes skipping over the opened crates and glowing vials, resting briefly on the smoking bullet holes and disabled alarm system with wires still hanging out on the wall- _oh god, we gave him a gun- _I _gave him a gun!- _and widening at the sight of a quiver full of arrows with weird arrow heads, marked 'EXPLOSIVE'- _I am giving that kid as many fucking guns as he wants.- _then landing on, finally, Tony, who was sitting at a steel bench with his cheek resting on the top and an adorable expression on his face, hair ruffled up and eyes flickering beneath eyelids. Clint tapped his pocket and sighed for a moment when he realised he'd left his phone upstairs and so could not take a picture and use as blackmail material, then strode forward and put a hand on Tony's shoulder to wake him up.

Tony groaned and opened his eyes, which flickered over Clint and widened in fear. The boy jerked back, falling off his bench, scrambling in an attempt to get away from Clint with a blurred, choked mumble of words streaming out of his mouth- _oh god I didn't I'm sorry stop doing- _and that panic was painful to watch. The whole scene was painful and pitiful and heart wrenchingly _wrong, _but Clint stepped back and put his hands up in what he hoped was a soothing motion, waiting for the kid to regain his bearings.

Sagging against the wall as comprehending realisation dawned in his eyes, Tony brushed a hand across his face and took a deep breath before standing up and forcing a smile on his face. "I-" he started. "Um, sorry. I just- it was a nightmare. Sorry."

Clint sincerely doubted it but let it go. Time in the circus done had seen many kids like this cross his path- the situations they'd come from were horrifying and much worse than his own, and he'd found it was best not to pry but to give them space and let them heal, or, as often as not, bottle it inside and somehow subdue the demons fighting there. "Hey, no worries." he grinned at Tony. "Looks like you were busy last night. What did you do?"

Tony instantly brightened and sprung forwards to grab the explosive arrows that Clint had noted earlier from their place against the wall. "Look at these! They're explosive arrows- actually, arrows with explosive heads. They come in different quantities to increase or decrease the size and timing of explosion but the largest you can get isn't that large, though I could make it larger by packing it more densely into the head which would mean it was weighted down- you'd have to practice with that, to make sure you knew how to shoot in when a different weight, but I'm sure you'd get it quickly; statistics on say that you can shoot pretty much anything and no way do I ever _ever _go on that site I was just referencing it because someone I knew once went on it and they were practically obsessed with it- I didn't _know _them know them, just casual not-friends with benefits because they were one of those bastards, but they still talked a bit to me- and anyway, back to the arrows- I could make on burst into flames if you wanted it to, by remote of activation with human skin or seal it and make the arrowhead light on fire when reacting with oxygen- huh, that's actually a really good idea-" Clint took Tony by the shoulders in the middle of this rant (noting the way he flinched and then pretended not to, only a slight hitch in his rant covered by a cough as the reaction to the touch) and lead him out of the lab, steadily not listening to the stream of words because while they sounded interesting- flaming arrows? Yes, any day- he'd learned already that listening to Tony in times like this was cause for many mental injuries and would almost certainly result in therapy for severe damage to the mind, and even if you didn't listen to it and were only in close proximity with the teenager in question it could be damaging to your well being.

"What's the time?" Tony asked eventually, turning to him curiously. Clint shrugged then turned to where the clock was- "Half eight."

"Oh." Tony looked mildly crestfallen. "I slept that long?"

"Uh huh- wait, what time did you fall asleep?"

"Five- ish. Maybe."

"No wonder you look like one of those zombies that assaulted Las Vegas last week."

Tony stopped, opened his mouth, paused and turned away. "I was thinking of asking you to tell me more about, before then remembering all the horror movies I was forced to watch as a kid and deciding no, I don't want to know."

"Your loss." Clint shrugged.

Tony felt a pang of hunger- "Any chance of breakfast?"

"Sure. We got a load of stuff; SHIELD agents are always volunteering to restock our food because they're such hapless fanboys or girls. S'good food though. Lotsa calories. Delicious calories."

"...and you are allowed those because obviously you are allowed to be in whatever shape those calories give you when you are the 'last line of defence' against all those aliens and- gah- zombies."

"Meh," Clint shrugged. "Natasha makes me work it all off."

"I guess. Wait, about that last line of defence thing; why do you call yourself _Avengers?_"

"Same reason SHIELD are called Strategic Homeland- ok, I can't remember the rest. But because it sounds cool."

"Huh. _Avengers." _Tony said, testing the name out again in his mouth. "Yeah, I guess it does."

They finally entered the kitchen, sleepy Avengers muttering quiet greetings while looking up with sleep dazed eyes from plates of food. Tony immediately spotted a cupboard swinging open, the inside full of chocolate and marshmallow Poptarts, huge piles in glinting blue wrappers. He sauntered over there- stumbling slightly and checking to see no one watched, the hesitation born of exhaustion- and took out a handful, ripping them open and stuffing them in the toaster, which he pushed down and then took roamed the kitchen looking for plates and glasses. He found a glass and filled it with milk- god, when was the last time he had that? Without coffee? - and then, looking at the delicious creamy white substance, (oh god, that sentence was _so _wrong) decided that he'd have to have coffee after all and grabbed Nestle's heavenly instant coffee powder from the cupboard with the Poptarts. He put the kettle on and while the water was boiling took out the Poptarts, then filled his mug with boiling water and added two heaped spoonfuls of coffee, then set it down at the table, and stuffed a whole Poptart in his mouth, sighing in appreciation.

"Oh my god," Natasha said in a hushed voice, looking up and staring at him in a kind of horrified fascination. "Look at Tony!"

"Tony-" Bruce said, staring at him with wide eyes, and Tony stopped chewing, confused.

"What?"

"Tony," started Clint, standing up and shooting a nervous glance at Thor, who hadn't noticed everyone else yet and was absorbed in the TV commercial playing. "Get out. Get out now."

"What? Why?"

Steve finally looked up and his eyes widened almost comically. He strode over to Tony and grabbed him by the arm, lifting him up and dragging him out the door- Tony grabbed onto the table obstinately and refused to move. "I don't get it! What did I do wrong? Why's everyone staring at me like I just gave the order to end the world or something?"

Thor finally turned his head from the commercial to see what the fuss was about. He spotted the pile of Poptarts on Tony's plate and his eyes darkened visibly, thunder starting to boom outside and a spray of crackling lightening making everyone jump. Tony's grip loosened momentarily and Steve took the opportunity to drag him out of the room and into the elevator, which was somehow at their floor and open at that precise moment, and slamming the 'door closed' button until the voice announced it in a cool, feminine tone.

Tony was more than worried at this point and backed slightly away from Steve, who was watching the numbers tick up with increasing desperation, which abated immediately when they hit ground floor and the doors dinged open. There was an exit directly opposite and Tony followed Captain America somewhat cautiously out into the pouring rain- funny, he could've sworn it was sunny just that morning- then stopped outside, Clint jumping down from a window (...ok, he wasn't going to ask) and joining them.

"Now, someone explain." Tony demanded. "Why was I interrupted in that heavenly breakfast? And why did Thor suddenly go crazy on me?"

"You took his Poptarts." Steve said seriously, leaning against the wall.

Tony spluttered out a laugh. "That is such a rubbish joke, guys. Like a _really _bad joke. I would never believe that anyone, especially an ultra-mature demigod, would be so possessive of some stupid Poptarts-" He stopped as a strain of an angry voice emanated from the SHIELD building, booming loudly- "_Did that mortal dare touch my precious Poptarts?_" And started laughing hysterically again, because no way could someone say the word 'Poptarts' in such a stern sounding I'm-gonna-fucking-kill-you tone and actually mean it.

Clint hooked an arm round Tony's shoulder and started steering him out of the alley. "Tony, maybe we should have told you all the rules before you came." He said carefully.

"Probably best," Steve agreed, joining on the other side in a curiously synchronised double act.

"Ok, first and most important; _never eat Thor's Poptarts._"

"No kidding." He said sarcastically.

"Really. The last guy was some SHIELD trainee who came down for the meeting and had to wait outside. He decided to help himself to the Poptarts and when Thor came out... let's just say, that horrible cream rug just outside the kitchen? It's where the scorch mark wouldn't come out."

Tony wasn't sure if this was a joke and wisely decided to keep silent.

"Second, Thor is not allowed to touch anything mildly modern. He's destroyed _loads _of our stuff and SHIELD budget is getting tired of restocking."

"Third, as we agreed yesterday, no Tony talking in the morning."

Tony scowled at that.

"No coffee at midnight. We had to build a whole new floor because the last one got destroyed last time that happened. No mentioning anything mildly sexual to Steve, because he bushes like hell."

Tony grinned at that and stored it in his mind for further use, as Steve gained a red tint to his cheeks.

"Darcy- someone you're probably not gonna meet because she's not an Avenger so, like you said, you're not allowed to reveal your existence to her- is not allowed near SHIELD trainees. Jane and Thor aren't allowed to make out in public."

"No going drunk into Bruce's lab. Actually, no proper get-drunk drinking around Bruce unless it's a team thing- and that's really serious, because he's got some issues with it from when he was a kid."

Tony nodded sombrely. Being a foster kid had shown him a lot of cases within fellow system kids, so he could understand where Bruce was coming from.

"No changing the channel when Clint's watching bird documentaries."

"No touching Nat's hair."

"No calling Black Widow 'Nat' unless you're Clint."

"No one is allowed to cook but Bruce, Jane and Natasha."

"No lying to Coulson."

"No nudeness."

"No loud sex- or public sex- oh, sorry, Steve." (Who was blushing.)

"No going down into lab's without permission- which I guess excludes you and includes your lab."

(It was at this point Tony decided to try and break every single rule he could, barring the Poptarts and drinking around Bruce because for the first, he wasn't keen to die, and for the second, he wasn't that mean.)

"And I so know that look on your face," Clint grinned. "But anyway. You might wanna get home for a few hours, to let Thor cool off, and then come back for work a bit later. And get some sleep, you look like crap."

"Sure," Tony nodded, then hesitated. "I do not."

Clint just raised his eyebrows. "Whatever. Steve, you go back and I'll walk Tony to his house?"

Steve nodded and took off back to the SHIELD headquarters, while Tony winced. "Um, you don't have to. I mean, it's a long way to walk... I'd normally get a bus but I don't think there's one running right now. I can just, uh, go on my own."

"It's fine," Clint assured him, smiling. "I'd like to meet your parents, as well."

"They're out." Tony quickly formulated. "Working. You know."

"Well, can I just come round?"

"I... thought I was meant to be going to sleep?"

"Just for a bit."

"No, it's really fine."

"Tony." Clint stopped and he looked up. "Why don't you want me to see your house?" And his eyes were blank but there was pity behind them, and Tony knew what he was thinking.

That was a question though- why? He wasn't _embarrassed. _Of course he wasn't. It wasn't like the Avengers quarters were so much bigger and more luxurious then his tiny room with the bare mattress and childish blueprints and dust and dirt everywhere and one dirty dish in the sink which was the only plate he owned and that stain on the wall from where he'd been beaten up on the way home (mugged, except he didn't have anything, so they'd kicked him to unconsciousness anyway) and collapsed bleeding against the wall and woken up with his vision funny and that stain which wouldn't go, and the suffocating tininess of his room (did he mention that?) and the absolute poverty stricken look of it all. No, he wasn't embarrassed.

It was just that- oh yeah, his parents. It was pretty obvious only one person was living there, so if Clint came back he'd figure out that Tony didn't have a family and _goodbye _to everything he had now and _hello _to crappy foster parents and I-just-want-a-fuck social workers and boring school which he'd done a thousand times over.

Yeah. That was totally the reason.

"It's because of your parents, isn't it?" Clint said, cutting into his thoughts and staring at Tony with that same pity and understanding.

"What? No!"

"He abuses you, doesn't he? Or someone does, anyway."

And this was so far from the truth that all Tony could do was laugh, and when he finally got away from Clint and made his way back home it was all he could do to get in to his room because he was laughing so hard at his day; that began with a nightmare, then angered a god because of Poptarts, and finally reminded Tony just how crap life was and just how much secrets cost and just how short a time it was before everything he had now was gone, like everything else, good or bad, he'd had in his life.

**So, yeah. Pretty much a filler chapter, some crack-ish humour, bit of angst. I'm so sorry it took- how long has it been? Three weeks? A month? To update, especially as this chapter isn't anything that special. Still, I hope you enjoyed. Haven't had time to edit it yet but all those comments that are **_**still **_**flooding in made me guilty enough to post this as soon as possible. **

**Thank you so much, guys, for all the ideas and support. There is a plot and now I've got enough bonding stuff to fill the next few chapters before that plot actually starts, so look forwards to that. Unfortunately the next update might be even longer- I can promise one at least before Christmas- because I have to revise for a huge, literally life changing exam which is a scholarship **_**out **_**of my current crappy school and into a wonderful posh rich-only one, but I will try and update. FTHU fans, quick note, next chapter coming sometime around Halloween.**

**A belated Happy Guy Fawkes/Bonfire Night to all those UK (the parade in our town and bonfire was awesome! And do other countries have something of the same? I've always wondered that,) and a belated **_**Eid Mubarak **_**to those Muslim, and an early Happy Halloween because I won't update in time, probably, depends on how many comments/review/kudos I get, and oh god there are so many celebrations I should so incorporate some angsty I'm-all-on-my-own-for-Christmas stuff if the chapter comes out at that time.**

**Bye.**


	5. And Some More

Tony went back to the tower later that day, after a short sleep from which he woke even more tired and buzzing with a sense of insatiable need to be doing something- ok, the short sleep couldn't really be counted as a 'sleep' as it was nothing more than three seconds closing his eyes before he gave up to the exhilaration summoned up to fight the fatigue that was sure to come crashing down, horribly, but later, and all Tony dealt with was the here and now.

Which was maybe why he currently lived in a shithole. _Whatever, _stupid sarcastic hindsight, you suck.

He scrambled in the back of the SHIELD building after the long walk there, walking into the Avengers quarters and following the voices to the living room- looking curiously and somewhat nervously at the scorch makes shaped as lightning bolts that _hadn't _been there before, now scarring the walls of the corridors- and opening the door to note (with a breath let out that he hadn't known he'd been holding) that Thor was calm and snoring in a chair next to the coffee table. The rest of the Avengers looked up as he entered, Natasha covered in soot and Steve with a bandage round his arm, and gave greetings with a smile. "Hey," he smiled, stretching and flopping down into the couch next to Clint. Clint immediately sat up and scrutinised him, before announcing, "Aaand you didn't go to sleep. At all. Did you."

Which wasn't a question at all but a statement, and 'did you' was not a statement, therefore it was incorrect. Tony explained this to Clint before replying that yes, _of course _he went to sleep.

"Tony..." Clint sighed. "Natasha's still training me on how to read people but even I know you were lying."

He scowled at that, and paused to consider the merits of breaking out in this particular strain of argument which would almost certainly lead to him losing (mainly because Clint was right) or going down to the lab, where wonderful things beckoned with unfurled violet petals beckoning into mysterious lands of magnesium and titanium and _I AM TITANIUM... _man, he really was sleep deprived. But. Obvious choice; the wonderful things. "Mm, whatever, I'm going down to the lab. Bye!"

And he disappeared before any of them could say anything.

His lab- (and how amazing it was he could call a place so gloriously scientific and creative _his, _as it was actually his, a space with equipment and safety and all _his_)- was untouched, and Tony quickly got to work perfecting the final designs on his various blueprints. Sinking into work quietened that buzzing sense of hyper-vigilance, and acted almost as a bubble, protecting him from those dangerous thought processes and memories that constantly sparked up to drag him down. And how wonderful it was; to release his imagination unfettered into boundaries of nothing; let his mind roam and fingers type wildly out plans for everything and anything, and then move over to the other side of the room and test those things out himself, make them, create something and feel that precious glow of success. Tony started producing more explosive arrows for Clint, and made the design more streamlined and less heavy, then completed Captain America's bullet proof costume. He set up a blueprint for a gadget for Black Widow- he was thinking poisonous, dart, earring, sparkly (yes, she wouldn't wear it on Avengers missions, but duh, he'd already hacked into all the Avenger's profiles and knew that Natasha and Clint were also agents of SHIELD and occasionally went out on undercover missions for them- in which this wonderful poisonous earring could be worn)- and mixed the formula for an acid which ate away at solid stone in a matter of seconds. Tony finished a plan for a gadget that would let the Hulk communicate even when he turned from each state to the other- on that note, he still needed to ask Bruce if the Hulk was actually comprehensible, otherwise it would be of no use- and started on an idea of his own; a select piece of code that would enable him to create an actual AI of his own.

Okay, so if he embedded the comprehensive thought processes into a standard model, programmed responses to basic things, created an Internet connection to search for things unknown and- ah! What if he selectively amplified the basic strategies so this thing would actually learn, become an almost _living _being-

This was- beyond anything he'd ever created. And if he created it, then, well-

And add in a bunch of code to protect the outward settings, bug the entire normal paths for hackers to take so they would instantly track and knock down any cyber attackers; that was protection done, though he might as well add firewalls to be safe. A few layers of them and then focus back on the actual programming- if he changed that bit to connect to the other bit then it would almost be like his AI was a being. And now to program the priorities; him first, obviously, and then his safety, (because Tony and the fact of his safety were entirely different things; many reckless actions of the past had shown that) and then...

The answer was obvious. The Avengers. Though that made something twinge uncomfortably inside him, that their safety was even on his list; because that meant they were already getting far too close, and he knew just how much it would hurt when they finally pulled away-

No matter. He'd deal with that when the time came. Just like he'd noted that morning; Tony was a man (teenager) of here and now, damn the consequences.

(Obviously this was not a good way to live and he should definitely change soon-)

(Shut _up, _hindsight.)

"Tony?" interrupted the cautious voice of Bruce from outside.

"Come in." he replied distractedly, fingers speeding over the keyboard to type out the final programming which would give sarcastic traits to his AI (obviously which anything he made would need). The door creaked open and he spun on his chair (oh god, spinney chairs, when he wasn't so busy he'd spend hours just spinning on these wonders...) to face Bruce, who was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a plain t shirt. "Hi!" Tony greeted. "What brings you to this fabulous den of mystical fantasticness?"

"Fabulous den of mystical fantasticness?" Bruce repeated dubiously, raising an eyebrow. Tony scowled.

"You're just jealous. Of my way with words."

"Um. Sure?"

"_You are._" Tony glared. "Anyway, why are you coming down here?"

"Just checking on you," Bruce shrugged, and Tony frowned slightly because that was... weird. Nice, but weird.

(Or maybe he only thought it was weird because his fucked up childhood and-)

"Doing anything interesting?" Bruce continued. Tony nodded enthusiastically, moving back on his chair so Bruce could see the screen filled with lines and lines of spidering black code, some interesting with blue boxes and red highlights showing commands sent directly to his AI. "What's that, then?" Bruce asked curiously, coming forwards and moving his glasses down to look at the screen.

"It's the layout for an AI- Artificial Intelligence- system. This is the basic commands, and I incorporated the ten strike code into the programming which, you know, is the-"

"Sorry, I know nothing about technology." Bruce cut in slightly apologetically. "Don't try and explain anything. I'll be content with the fact you are probably doing something amazing and overwhelming and never within my reach- and what are you going to call it?"

"Call what?"

"The AI. The one you're making?"

"Oh. Um..." Tony paused, and then shrugged. "No idea. I'll think of it later. And oh yeah," he said, an idea making its way back to him. "I was making plans for a communicator, and will it be any use when you're the Hulk? I mean, can you say stuff or is it just HULK SMASH and shit."

"It's not me." Bruce frowned. "The Hulk, I mean. It's- the Other Guy, I call him. He's a completely separate thing and not connected to me at all. And he's not coherent, at all."

"Right." Tony said, mildly put out by this. "I'll scrap that, then. Wait- if the Hulk is someone different, can I meet him?"

Bruce gave him a flat stare. "No."

"Please? Why not?"

"Because he'd kill you. And there is no further speculation on this topic of conversation. Do you want to come up for dinner?"

"Dinner? But- it's still- it's still the morning!"

"Tony." Bruce gave him a flat stare. "Are you even in this world? We just went on a mission to Turkey- _yes, all the way to Turkey- _because their super-heroes were knocked out by some weird metal monster thing. And we killed the monster. And then we came back. And got shawarmas from the local take out place. And then came back. And trained a bit. And they sent me down to check on you. Are you seriously saying you think it is still morning?"

"Ah..." Tony started sheepishly. "Kind of. Wait, what? No! Of course not! I totally... totally knew..." he trailed off weakly as Bruce raised an eyebrow, obviously unimpressed. "Um. Yeah, I'll come up for dinner. Like, now. I'm going. And. I knew it was- dinner- obviously- the time- _did not _ think it was morning- _did not-" _And Bruce followed the younger male a little warily as he stepped past mounds of materials and out of the lab, clattering up the stairs while muttering denials. Tony stopped at the top, obviously unsure of which way to go. "Left."

"Right. Um. I haven't had time to memorize the blueprint yet, sorry."

"Where did you get a blueprint of the SHIELD headquarters?!"

Tony gave him a sideward look. "You really don't want to know."

Bruce paused to consider this. "Eh, you're right. I don't."

Tony smirked at him and continued into the floor, walking along the corridor and turning right or left at the occasional points when Bruce told him to, occasional small talk dispersing through their journey. They entered the kitchen, Avengers seated round the table with lazy glances in their eyes and a few delicious looking dishes set out in front of them. There were two people there who he didn't know- a woman in a lab coat brown hair tied back neatly and brown eyes on Thor with that something in them obvious she was in love with him (Tony knew how to tell, even though he'd never be on the other side of these looks himself) and another woman, with faded jeans and a bright t shirt, gum in her mouth and grin on her face and she explained something loud and complicated to Steve with many wild hand gestures flying all over the place.

Tony instantly fell in love.

Unfortunately, despite the fact that one of the women was uncannily similar to Tony in the way he talked and acted and the other wore a lab coat (because hello, fellow scientist, no trouble there) there was a slight problem, that being he was Absolutely Forbidden To Show Himself To Anyone But The Avengers, as according to the one eyed pirate himself, a.k.a Fury. And though he was at loath to listen anything Fury said, he didn't want to lose his job this fast; that would be a new record.

(Actually, it wouldn't. The one time he'd attempted to get a real job which was not on the Internet, it had been at McDonalds. After an hour in the kitchen he'd sighed in frustration at the frequently breaking frying machine and dismantled it, fixed it and had been about to put it back together before the boss came in and sacked him, also fining him for the machine which took a month of living on the streets and eating nothing but stolen candy to pay.)

"Tony?" questioned Natasha, looking up and noticing him as if for the first time. "Everything okay?"

He instantly decided that Fury would not mind two more people knowing/he could hide behind Captain America until the Avengers sorted it out. "No, I'm fine." He said, sliding into a place at the end of the table. "Um, hi. I'm Tony." He said to the two women he did not know.

"Dr. Jane Foster." The female lab coated person smiled at him, shaking his hand. "This is Darcy Lewis, the bane of our existences."

That was the woman ranting something to Steve; she looked up at the sound of her name and waved at Tony. Then her eyes widened and she sprung out of her seat, jaw dropping open as she stared unashamedly at him. "What?" he asked self consciously.

"I know you!" she squealed, flipping hair out of her eyes. "Ohmygawd I so know you! You- you're Howard Stark!"

Tony regarded her blankly, and felt. (It.)

"I spent a week memorizing that face in the Hottest Smart Men of the Year back when I was in college." She confided, dropping back into her seat. "And then Maria married him, so my dreams gone. But- you are Howard Stark, right?"

"Um, he died ages ago." Tony chose his words carefully, trying not to show any of the stricken feeling he felt on his face. "And if he was alive he'd be, like, fifty now."

"Aw, shame." Darcy said, looking disappointed. "And I totally knew that. You just looked so much like him, and, you know. Whatever. So anyway; you're the new Avenger techie, right?"

"Yup." He stated, and closed his eyes tight shut at memories. (She just had to mention _Howard Sta-_) "Um, I- think I need to go home now. Mum will probably want me. Or something." He lied, starting to back out of the room.

His attention had been fixed on Darcy until then, but now he noticed Natasha staring at him with a curious look and Clint looking worried. (Oh shit he'd been too obvious-)

"Are you sure you can't stay?" asked Bruce. "It's fine if your mother wants you, but you're welcome to stay for dinner."

"You could invite her, if you wanted." Steve put in kindly. Tony winced uncomfortably as his small remark was suddenly pounced on and turned into a real being; he'd have to control this huge lie for as long as he was with the Avengers. That would be annoying, especially if they decided they wanted to meet his 'family'. "Um. No thanks." He replied weakly to Steve's invitation. "Bye." And rushed out of the room and down to the back exit as if fire was on his heels.

When he exited the building and stood hunched in the cold of the setting sun outside, emotions broke through the hastily constructed block he'd put up for the Avengers benefit. His eyes grew hot and jaw clenched and. (If they knew) they wouldn't know. But. Ah fuck, he wasn't ashamed or worried what they'd think about him that been abused by his own fucking father for the first four years of his life, no he didn't _care _if they knew, it was just- just that- then they'd know he was a system kid, because everyone knew Stark's orphan was a system kid, and then they'd know that he was lying about his 'family'.

Yeah. That was the truth.

He kicked angrily at the mud frozen and piled up next to the SHIELD building, then crouched down against it and put his head in his hands. Passerby's where few and far between at this time, only cars coming down the road; he was alone in his misery, stemming from the fact that he was alone, which led to this misery. The very picture of a snake eating its own tail.

_Not _the image he wanted to associate himself with.

Tony yawned with a sudden overtake of fatigue and stood up, stretching. He started the long walk back home, ignoring the welcoming lights on each side of the road, especially from the third floor of the SHIELD headquarters where the Avengers resided; blocked by air and space and glass and cloth and wood and stone and oh god, he was so painfully alone it wasn't _fair. _

Life wasn't fair. But- he was fifteen. Why couldn't he just have a single fucking break? Not even- one. Ah, fuck. Self pity wasn't going to get him anywhere. Especially because he was damn freezing- it was winter and all he had was a hoodie and thin jeans against the cold, as soon as he paid the bills and got some decent meals he was buying as many clothes as he could. But for now the polluted freezing gusts of air bit into his skin, tearing away semblances of life and leaving him a numb, staggering corpse with blue lips and cracking fingers. He picked up the pace, the exertion rushing blood faster round his body and breath coming out harder in misty clouds, dispersing as soon as they hit the air. When he was younger and had friends at school, he used to stand in the playground and pretend the clouds of perspirations were smoke from cigarettes, holding two fingers to their lips and cocking a hip in gangster poses, giggling at each other as they pretended to be badasses.

Good times, good times.

The walk home was a good half hour away, which didn't seem like much in the comforting light of the morning but in this coldness was an agonising trek away. Huh. He wondered if anyone else on the street had heard the thump that was his fingers freezing into blocks of ice, snapping off and landing on the road.

Gah. _Not _a nice image.

He finally arrived outside his apartment block, cursing the stairs as he staggered up them with his arms huddled around himself in a feeble attempt to prevent the cold. Clumsy fingers took down the safety measures quickly and he unlocked the door, going inside and closing it before putting the homemade security system back on. Then he stumbled further into his room and collapsed onto his bed, clutching blankets over him. Damnit; he'd decided long ago to make do without electricity because of the money they required, which usually wiped him out for ages, but it was times like winter that the cold which came from not having any heating made him change his mind.

That wouldn't be necessary anymore, once he had money. He could get _everything. _Well, not everything; but everything he used to have, and then some. And once he saved up enough that precious dream of MIT might even be in reach.

Yeah, whatever.

Sleep fumbled its way into place behind his eyes, a yawn making its way into the air. He leaned against the wall, gazing out of half lidded eyes to the room with fluttering blueprints pinned to the walls, something keeping him from fully collapsing into much needed rest. There was something there, something he needed to do- no, not that he needed to do, some sixth sense telling him- that-

A shout came just from the other side of the door, quickly cut off but he still heard it.

Someone was _there. _

**Review. **


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